


Ironworks

by bettysdryer



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysdryer/pseuds/bettysdryer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What if I had the power to propel you backwards through the sands of time itself?" As Tony Stark and Bruce Banner work on their latest top secret project, the other Avengers face an unknown threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my awesome beta sidonay for helping me so much with this. You rock, dude. 
> 
> I'm going to be posting a chapter a day, except for the Prologue and Chapter 1 (and don't worry, only the Prologue is in first person). Enjoy!

DAY 153 OF THE T.I.T.T.S. PROJECT

I'm still working on Phase 2 and it's nearly three in the morning. I don't know how Tony is still so _awake_ at this time of night, but he is, and he wants to keep going so I guess I have to also.

I've been trying to convince him to change the project's name to something a little more... dignified (honestly, T.I.T.T.S?), but he isn't having any of it. “It's catchy,” he says. I just think it sounds ridiculous, but once Tony gets set on something there is absolutely no changing his mind. Definitely something that's simultaneously frustrating and refreshing about him.

Anyway, back to the science would be good, yeah?

The work is slow but steady. I've been trying to adjust the iongenics but it hasn't been working. Tony's suggested replicating the sub-particles and using the electromagnetic containment deflector, but that seems like it will definitely blow up and I'd really like to not have everyone die in a fiery explosion.

I just ran the scanners and it says we'll need another _two thousand terraflops_ before the base is functional. You've _got_ to be kidding me. Screw this, I'm going to sleep. Tony can go bounce off the walls by himself for a while.

DAY 160

I'm going to lose my mind. It's taking all I have to keep the other guy under control, although there's a part of me that definitely wants to let him smash up this entire lab.

It turns out that Tony was right about the sub-particles (of course he was), but there's a problem. The capacitors can't handle the high speeds of the electromagnets and as far as we can tell, there is absolutely no work-around. None. And if Tony Stark can't figure this out, hell if I can.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm even bothering to help him with this in the first place. It's maddening, sometimes. But then I think about what exactly it is we're about to accomplish – how historic it is, and earth-shattering. And that helps power me through it. Usually.

Besides, free room and board.

DAY 162

I've attached a rough, incomplete diagram to this, even though Tony was very adamant that everything stay on his private servers. I just like having actual physical copies of things. It helps to feel it out. Hence, this log, which Tony keeps making fun of. “Writing in your diary again, Banner?” Hardy har har.

No one could possibly re-create it based on this diagram alone, in any case. It's only about a third of the machine, and impossible to reproduce without the rest of the schematics, especially without the arc reactor. I don't think you could even turn this thing on without it; it would require approximately the power of the entire East Coast. I'm going to have to look over this tonight and see if I can figure out the electromagnet problem somewhere far away from Tony, who keeps distracting me.

Man, I need some coffee.

DAY 202

I can't believe I'm writing this, but Phase 2 is actually complete! Tony's on his fifth whiskey sour in celebration, but he keeps worrying about someone finding out about what we're doing. I've told him over and over that it's impossible, that we're the only two people on the planet who are even aware that we're building anything at all, but still he's increasingly paranoid about it. I don't know what to say to make him feel better, but there probably isn't anything I c _could_ say. At least nothing he would remember by tomorrow. God, another drink, really?

Oh, who am I to rain on his booze-fueled parade? Not like it's any of my business.

I can't help but wonder what would happen if someone did manage to find out about our project, though. I don't want to think about this falling into the wrong hands.


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all intents and purposes, this is Chapter 1, even if it says Chapter 2 above.

In many ways, New York was exactly the same.

True, the buildings were different – skyscrapers and billboards and so much sheen – but the people? Ultimately, the pride in their city, their fierce protectiveness of it and its inhabitants, yet their simultaneous hatred of it... that was the same. It would always be the same, probably. It was comforting to him.

He walked the streets all the time now, memorizing the new sights and smells, the new streets, new stores and new hot dog stands. It was overwhelming sometimes, but still he pressed on. He needed to know the city again. Every crevice, every hidden-away burger joint, all of it.

While on one of his walk-abouts in Manhattan one morning, he managed to come across an extremely rare alley. He'd noticed that alleys were practically extinct in Manhattan in this new age, so his curiosity took hold of him and he started to walk inside.

The alleyway was between a pizza place and an apartment building with geraniums on the windowsill of the second floor. The ground was strangely sticky, and his shoes made a wet crunching noise as he moved further in.

A smelly dumpster. Rats. Couple of fire escapes. Nothing too exciting, despite the sticky ground. Steve shrugged, and was about to turn around and leave when a figure appeared suddenly from nowhere and grabbed his shoulder.

“You are Steve Rogers, yes?” the figure said. It seemed to be nothing but dark shadow, impossibly tall with long, bony fingers. No face, only a hood with black emptiness inside. Steve jerked his arm away and stared.

“Who – what – the hell are you?” he demanded. His eyes darted about – fire escape was about a yard away, and the dumpster would provide a decent boost –

“That is irrelevant,” said the figure. It had a heavy, male, Arabian accent, though something about it seemed off. “What is relevant, however, is that you are Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America.”

“Yeah? What's it to you?” If he could just get past this guy, he could make a run for the dumpster and –

“It is everything to me, and also, I suspect, to you.” A small pause. “You are a man from a time long past. Everyone you either knew or loved is long gone from this world. What if I told you... I could bring you back?”

Steve froze. “Excuse me?”

“I know you heard me. What if I had the power to propel you backwards through the sands of time itself? It would be as though you had never left. As though you had never crashed that plane into the ice, never found yourself almost a century into the future, a foreign world with foreign people. What would you say to that promise?”

“Not interested,” Steve said.

“Is that so? Not interested at all?”

“Nope. Now who are you and why the hell do you want to send me back in time?”

The figure's shoulders lifted with a small shrug. “A good deed. A man must try. I'll be seeing you again soon, Steve Rogers. Perhaps by then, you'll re-think your answer.”

And the figure vanished in a wisp of black smoke.

Steve simply stood there for several long moments, attempting to process what had just happened. He knew the future was strange, with its portable telephones and electric devices you could control with a flick of your index finger, but this? This seemed like something else entirely.

He tore out of the alleyway, the gummy substance still on his heels, and headed towards the Stark Tower only a few blocks away.

* * *

“S.H.I.E.L.D let you out of your cage, Rogers?” was the first thing Tony Stark said to him as Steve stepped out of the private elevator and into the penthouse.

“Nice to see you again, too.” He looked over at Dr. Banner, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“Hi, Cap,” he said, smiling.

Steve smiled back. “Hello, doctor. I, uh... I need to talk to the both of you.”

“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times, you put the headphones in your _ears_ , not up your nose.” Stark admonished, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “But seriously, though. What can we do for you, O Captain My Captain?”

“I was just cornered by a shadow man who told me he could take me back to the 1940's,” he said. “Do either of you have any idea what's going on?”

“You saw... a shadow man?” Banner asked as Stark started coughing into his mug. “And he told you he could travel through time?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Steve admitted. “But I was walking into an alleyway not too far from here when suddenly – ”

“An _alleyway_? In _Manhattan_? Did Fury accidentally feed you some special brownies?” Stark sat on the couch and threw his arm behind Banner, who tensed up.

“Special...? No. But the alley was strangely... sticky. And then a man – a dark man, with no face, only a black hood, and long black fingers just... appeared. He was made of smoke, or shadows, or something. And he said something about transporting me through the sands of time. Does this ring _any_ bells with you guys?”

Banner and Stark looked at each other for a moment, and then Stark said, “Sounds like gibberish to me. Sound familiar to you, Bruce?” He took a very long swig of coffee.

“No. No, it doesn't,” the doctor said, adjusting his glasses. “Are you sure you weren't just seeing things, Cap?”

“I wasn't. I know what I saw and what I heard.” He hesitated. “Do you think... do you think it's possible? To travel back in time?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Banner said carefully. “Practically, no.”

“Theoretically?”

Banner glanced at Stark before continuing. “Well, if we're talking about time machines – actual, functional time machines – the only way you could send someone back would be to a time when the machine existed. So if I was to build that machine right now, the only way for it to 'travel back' would be if people from the future came back to our time. They wouldn't be able to go further into the past than when the machine was built.”

“Of course, this is all just conjecture,” said Stark. He was fingering with the tag sticking out of Banner's shirt.“Time machines don't actually exist yet.”

“But it's possible to build one? Theoretically?”

“You're not going to be able to go back to your own time, Steve,” Banner said quietly. 

“No, that wasn't – I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. I... I know I can't go back.” _I wouldn't even know what to do if I did_ , he didn't say.

There was a short silence, then Stark jumped to his feet. “I'm glad you're here, actually, Rogers. I've been meaning to drag you up from Brooklyn. There's something we want to show you.”

“Show me?”

Stark grinned. “A surprise.”

* * *

“Oh, wow,” said Steve.

It was an entire, massive, sprawling floor of the building – an open space, covered head to toe in red, white, and blue.

The floor was a recreation of the design on his shield. The left wall was blue, the right red, the ceiling white. Memorabilia from the past seventy years lined the red wall, while a timeline was on the blue. A large bed with an American flag design was on the far side of the room. Statues and training areas and back-up costumes and so many other things. The sheer size was astonishing. 

“Do you like it?” Stark was clearly eager for approval but trying not to show it.

“It's _great_ ,” said Steve, perfectly happy to give Stark the approval he craved. He ran his hands over a model of a modern commercial airplane. “But... what is it for?”

“Well, y'know, I was thinking,” said Stark, as the three of them took a turn around the room, “after saving the earth and all that... maybe Stark Tower shouldn't be Stark Tower. Maybe it should be the Avengers Tower instead.”

“The Avengers Tower.” He liked the sound of that.

“Yeah, got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Anyway, each of us would have our own floor, custom suited to our individual needs, and then another floor for us all to have meetings or whatever when the next big, nasty alien comes along and tries to laser us all to death. Plus, it's a place to crash sometimes. Genius, right?”

“It sounds interesting,” said Steve. He gazed at the splendor once more. “Guess you're a team player after all, Stark.”

Stark shrugged, but grinned.

“Any of the other floors finished yet?” If his own floor was this fantastic, the other ones had to really be something too.

“Not yet, no. Most of them are still under construction.”

“Mine's almost finished,” Bruce said, finally piping up after a long silence. “He's got a pair of ultra-stretch pants hanging up in there.”

Steve laughed. “That should come in useful.”

“Oh, and we made you this, too!” Stark ushered him over to a case on the left wall that showcased what looked like a replica of his shield.

“It's a retractable shield,” Banner explained as Stark unlocked the case. “To carry around town in your pocket, in case of emergencies. It's made of the same material as your current shield.”

“The same material? But your father told me that was all the vibranium left on earth.”

“Yeah, well, my father wasn't always right.” Stark grimaced at his own words as he presented Steve with the shield. “See, you press this button right here, and – ” The shield suddenly shrunk to the size of a quarter. “– voila! And if you ever lose it, all you need to do is whistle the 'Star Spangled Man' and it'll fly right back in your hands.”

Steve snorted in disbelief. “Right.”

“No, I'm serious! And it's attuned to your voice specifically, so no one else can ever call it.” 

“Well... thank you. This means a lot.” And it did. He took the tiny shield from Stark's hands and put it in his shirt pocket. “How did you manage to make it do that?”

“What, the 'Star Spangled Man' part or the whole pocket-sized thing? For the first one, all we did was use some optical relays to – ”

“Forget I asked.”

He stayed for a little while longer, chewing the fat, and the three of them said their goodbyes, but Steve left a little uneasy. He couldn't help but feel like there was something these two weren't telling him. Normally he would seek the guidance of S.H.I.E.L.D, but after everything that had happened with the Tesseract and the aliens, he didn't feel like he could really trust them, either.

Looked like it was up to him. Again.


	3. Tony

“Son of a bitch,” Tony said. He ran his hands through his hair. “Someone knows! Someone knows. Shit. _Shit_.”

“How could anyone possibly know?” Bruce laid a hand on his shoulder. “Everything's on your private server; no one even knows that we're working on anything – ”

“But some guy just came up to Captain freakin' America and told him he could travel through time – I mean, what does _that_ tell you? Do you really think that's just a coincidence?” Tony didn't freak out a lot, but he was definitely freaking out now. He suddenly found himself at the bar with a fifth of whiskey in his hand. _My my, how did that get there?_ He downed it all at once.

“Jesus, Tony, it's eleven in the morning.” Bruce grabbed the empty glass and slid it away from him.

“Oh, I'm _sorry_. I just need something to take the edge off now that some asshole made of smoke has potentially _stolen our time machine_.”

Bruce sighed. “You need to calm down.”

“Ha! Look who's talking, green man!”

“...I'm going to ignore that. But before you go ahead and drink yourself into a coma – ” Bruce took the clean glass that Tony was beginning to fill away from him, causing whiskey to splash on the bar and Tony glared, “ – we should probably try and figure out if something even happened in the first place. Do you think someone might have hacked into JARVIS?”

“Impossible,” Tony said. “Even if somebody, somehow, managed to get past the myriad securities, JARVIS would've alerted me immediately. No, they must have found some other way...” The cogs in his mind began whirring at top speed, and he could see Bruce's going too.

“JARVIS, have there been any breaches? Any at all in the past year?” Bruce asked.

“No, Dr. Banner, there have not,” the thoroughly British JARVIS replied. “Everything is locked up tight. I've seen to it personally.”

“I still can't get over how amazing your A.I. technology is,” Bruce said. “It's just... astounding.”

“We can flirt later, babe. C'mon, let's go take a look at T.I.T.T.S. Maybe there'll be some clues there.”

“Okay, can we seriously re-name this thing? Can't we call it, like, T.A.S.A or something – Time And Space Apparatus?”

“Nope!” Tony yelled, already halfway down the hall, “ T.I.T.T.S or nothing!”

* * *

This was ridiculous. He and Bruce had combed the lab containing the time machine, and even T.I.T.T.S (Traveling Interdimensionally Through Time and Space) itself – nothing. Nothing at all. But there had to be _something_.

“Maybe someone is trying to get Cap out of the way,” Bruce said as Tony fiddled with the gears under the base. “Lure him somewhere under the pretense of being able to bring him back home, and then... kill him, I guess?”

“Well, there's a happy thought,” Tony said. “Smoke people want to murder Steve Rogers. Any particular reason why, or just for shits and giggles?” Either way, it was definitely cause for a considerable amount of alarm. “JARVIS, bring our security level to 11. No one comes in or out of the top ten floors except for the Avengers. And even then they'll need clearance from me.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Do you really think that'll solve the problem?”

“No. But it's a start.” He slid out from underneath the machine and wiped his hands with a rag. “In the meantime, though, let's continue working, doctor.”

As Bruce brewed a fresh pot of coffee, Tony looked upon their time machine – god, it was _so awesome_ , they were building a _real time machine_ – and smiled to himself. It wasn't finished yet, but magnificent so far. It was modeled after the flying car his father had attempted (and failed) to build in the 40's, with working, gold-plated repulsors, and a 1967 red Shelby convertible as the machine itself. So, it was a time machine, but could also be used as a flying car, which only made it about a thousand times more great.

“It's very 'Back to the Future',” Bruce had said a year ago when Tony had shown him the blueprints. “Why does it need to be a car?”

“Because of science reasons,” Tony had explained unhelpfully. There was no actual reason, really. He'd just always wanted to drive a car into the future. Hell, who didn't?

It was a shame, though, he thought to himself as he checked out Bruce's ass when he bent over to adjust the capacitors, that this thing couldn't travel to the past. It would've been a nice treat for good ol' Cap, taking him back to visit his old time. Say his goodbyes and all. He still didn't like Rogers – not exactly – but he did respect him, and the feeling was mutual. Probably.

Tony patted Bruce on the butt as he made his way over to the front of the car, eliciting a yelp.

“Could you stop touching my butt all the time?” Bruce asked, laughing.

“Well, stop having a nice butt, then,” Tony said, checking the measurements of radiation. Not a dangerous amount, but still not super-safe. Definitely something to improve on in Phase 3.

“So, when are we gonna take this baby out for a test drive, Banner?” Tony clapped his hand on the dashboard. “T.I.T.T.S is pining away, longing to travel a thousand years into the fifth dimension.”

“Yeah, this can't even travel to other dimensions, so the name T.I.T.T.S is misleading as well as really, really childish,” Bruce said, brushing some hair out of his eyes. “And not anytime soon. It's not ready, and you know that.”

“But I wanna ride into the futuristic sunset!” he whined.

“Too bad. Now sit down and help me with these calibrations, will you?” Bruce gave him a playful smirk that made Tony want to jump his bones right then and there, but he decided to keep it in his pants for a couple minutes. 

Just a couple, though.

* * *

“Slow and steady wins the race” had been their motto concerning sex, for a time. It had taken them a few months after their first, somewhat disastrous, attempt to find a rhythm that would – well, that _wouldn't_ cause Bruce to get a giant green penis. But they had found it, eventually. And holy mother of _god_ had it ever been worth it. But Tony had already known that going in.

Now, though? After months and months of very intense research and development, they could fuck as hard and as fast as they wanted to. Once in a while, something would happen behind Bruce's eyes – something bright and monstrous – but that never stopped them. Hell, it helped, sometimes. Although it did frequently leave Tony wondering if, technically, he'd just been sodomized by the Hulk instead of Bruce. Which was kind of a weird notion, but hey, none of this had ever been normal to begin with.

Tony leaned back and stretched after a particularly excellent erotic escapade inside the time machine, as Bruce awkwardly pulled his pants back up and climbed out through the passenger door.

“We've gotta stop having sex in there,” he said.

“You mean we've gotta stop _not_ having sex in here,” Tony clarified.

“I think I bruised my knee.”

“A small price to pay. And you weren't complaining, were you?”

“No, I wasn't complaining, since you had your mouth around my penis and everything.” He put his glasses back on, but not his shirt, which Tony very much appreciated. “I also don't think that was really the wisest way to spend our time when someone is either out to kill Cap, has stolen the plans for our time machine, or both.”

“Now who's the one who needs to calm down?” He wasn't wrong, though. It was just so easy to get sucked into Bruce's chest hair and his wry smiles that, if the two of them weren't so attracted to each other and never had sex, the time machine would probably be 100% complete by now.

Bruce gave him a Look, then threw on his shirt. _Aw, shucks_.

“Hey, listen,” Tony said, letting his arm hang off the door, “I'm just as worried about this as you are, but until we get some kind of lead, there isn't really anything we can do.”

“We can ask Fury if he knows what's going on.”

“Really? Do we wanna open up that can of worms? Why don't we just ask – ” He had been about to say “Agent Coulson”, then remembered and it was like a bucket of ice water had just been poured over him.

Tony swallowed and continued. “We could ask Agents Romanoff or Barton, maybe.”

“Maybe.” He seemed to be thinking, but didn't voice any of his thoughts and instead headed to the bathroom.

“I'll give them a call in a little while,” Tony shouted at the door as the faucet started running. “They oughta know something about shadow people, at the very least!”


	4. Natasha

_Ow._

Natasha Romanoff leapt to the side as a bullet barely grazed her left shoulder. She took cover behind the flipped-over steel table, ripped a strip of cloth off her shirt, and tied it around the bleeding wound.

“Lunatic sons of bitches,” Clint said, firing an arrow at the guy who shot her, and smirked as he fell to the ground instantly.

“I'm fine, thanks for asking,” she said dryly, and stood up again. It hurt like hell, but she could still keep going.

Kawasaki was turning out to be a lot more than either of them had bargained for.

This was supposed to have just been a routine tailing mission – find the man who was claiming to have some sort of special tech that could hack into any system – and they had managed to locate him in Japan, working as a sandblaster in a glass factory. Seemingly nothing dangerous about him at all. Went to work every morning, went home every night, surfed the Internet for porn, ate noodles. That was about it, really. Absolutely nothing about this guy seemed at all suspicious or like he was an expert hacker.

Then _these_ thugs had shown up.

“Did he hit you bad?” Clint asked as he landed an arrow in someone's eye socket, and Natasha landed a bullet in someone else's forehead.

“Just a graze,” she replied, and sucker-punched another one in the face with her good arm. He went down instantly. 

Then her cell phone started ringing.

“Oh, you have got to be – ” Why did she always gets calls at the worst possible times? She kicked another guy in the chest and sent him flying before ducking behind the table again to answer her phone. “What?!”

“What kind of a way is that to answer a telephone?” Stark. Of course.

“I'm a little – ” Natasha quickly shot her pistol at another assailant, hitting him in the knee, then ducked for cover again, “– _busy_ at the moment.” 

“Certainly sounds like you're busy. Is that gunfire? Maybe I should call back.”

“No, don't bother. What do you need?” There were more of them coming in through the front entrance. Crap. She made a motion to Clint for him to take the other side of the room; he quickly obeyed.

“Oh, you know, just wanted to chat,” Stark said breezily, as Natasha fired more shots at the newcomers. “Looking up stuff on the Internet. You know anything about people made of shadows?”

“What?” she said. Clint was giving her a funny look as he loosed another arrow.

“People made of shadows. Creepy, black shadows. Know if that's real? I'm trying to update the wikipedia page.”

“Stark, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Why don't you save the calls for stuff that actually makes _sense_?” She flipped the phone closed angrily and fired a head shot at the last guy left. The bullet passed right between his eyes, and he fell to the ground on his knees. Natasha stared at the blood oozing out of the wound as the guy seemed to be looking right at her... and then he fell to the floor with a _whomp_.

“What was that all about?” Clint was already by her side again.

She sighed and wiped the sweat off of her brow. “Beats me. Do you think they're with our alleged hacker?”

“No, not that,” he said, “although obviously that's a mystery too, but what was the phone call?”

“Oh. Stark. He started asking me about shadow people or something.”

“Someone's tailing him?”

“Not that kind of shadow. People _made_ out of shadows. I don't know; he wasn't making any sense. He sounded like he'd been drinking.” She stuck her pistol back in her holster and looked around. “Looks like that was all of them. Head back to base?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” His lips were pursed. 

“What's the problem?”

“Nothing, I just – Stark asked you about shadow people?”

“Don't tell me that's actually a thing.” Aliens and demi-gods were bad enough as it was. 

“I don't think so,” Clint said as they walked out of the back of the building, stepping over a few of the dead bodies, “but I remember Fury mentioning something about manipulating energies, and one way that could manifest was making someone turn into a shadow? I'm not really sure; I wasn't exactly supposed to be a participant in the conversation.”

“Listening in on phone calls again?” She shoved his shoulder playfully, then winced and rubbed her wound.

“Don't touch it, Tasha! We need to get some real bandages on that thing.”

“I'm well aware of how to treat bullet wounds, Clint.” The way he liked to fuss over her sometimes could get irritating. And speaking of irritating: the sound of police sirens were finally approaching. “God, how long did it take for someone to hear that gun fight and call the police?” Not that it mattered; they were far enough away from the scene at this point to be able to slip away unnoticed.

They walked in silence for a while, until Natasha asked, “So, do you think there's something to what Stark was babbling about?”

“There might be. Can't hurt to follow up on it.” He hopped a fence with ease; she took a little more effort because of her arm.

“But if Fury isn't talking to us about it, we might not have the clearance.”

Clint grinned at her. “And when has _that_ ever stopped us?”

She smirked back at him. 

* * *

Back at the hotel, Natasha was applying some antibiotic lotion to the graze wound while Clint was searching through the S.H.I.E.L.D database on his laptop. She wrapped her injury and was about to put her shirt back on when her phone rang again.

Not Stark this time. Banner. “Hello?”

“Hello, Agent Romanoff? This is Dr. Banner. Tony called you earlier, but he said you were busy shooting people in the face.”

She chortled. “I was. Is this about shadow guys again?”

“Yeah, it is. Steve Rogers came to the tower a couple hours ago and told us someone like that cornered him in an alleyway in Manhattan and said...” A beat. “He told him he could send him back in time.”

“Well, Clint's looking it up right now,” Natasha said, getting up and peering over Clint's shoulder. “So far, though, no luck.”

“You just need to give me a couple minutes,” he said petulantly, and began typing faster. 

“But he said that Fury was talking about something that could match that description. Wait – did you say he could send Rogers _back in time_?”

“Well, I don't know if he can actually do it. But it's what he said.” He coughed. “It could be nothing, but I thought we should call and ask.”

“It doesn't _sound_ like nothing.” 

“Got it!” Clint announced triumphantly. “Shadowmasters. Look.”

“Hold on.” Natasha put the phone on speaker, lowering it onto the desk, and read the screen:

_Shadowmasters are the stuff of legend, and it is undetermined whether they have ever, in fact, actually existed. Originating as a myth from Romania, it came to be accepted as gospel truth, the tales spreading throughout Eastern Europe and the Middle East._

_Shadowmasters have the ability to make themselves – and others – appear as mere shadows. They cannot be harmed or killed while in this state, but neither can they harm or kill others. Typically this power was used as a way to scare, intimidate, threaten or manipulate. However, it was also considered a spiritual and holy endeavor, a practice used to become one with the light and the darkness._

_As of this writing, no Shadowmasters are known to exist._

“I have never heard of this in my life,” said Natasha. “Have either of you ever heard these stories before?”

Clint shook his head. “Nope.”

“Me either,” said Banner. “Maybe it's a more obscure legend. Do you think that's what's going on? A Shadowmaster is out to get Captain America?”

She chewed on her lip. “Normally I would say 'no, that's ridiculous', but apparently Norse myths are factual, so there's definitely a possibility that this Shadowmaster thing is true too.”

“It doesn't say anything about them traveling through time, though,” said Clint.

“There's no further information?”

“Nope. Just that little blurb.”

“Hmm.” She put her hand over her phone, pushing it away from her and Clint, and whispered, “Do you think we should call this in?”

“Probably,” he whispered back, shrugging. “Let the rest of the team deal with it. We have to figure out what's going on with this 'hacker' and why we were almost murdered by a gang of idiots tonight.”

Natasha looked at him for a good, long while, then finally took her hand off her phone and said to Banner, “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We'll let you know if we find out anything.”

“Thank you, Agent Romanoff.”

“Please. It's Natasha.” A small smile.

She could almost feel him smiling back on the other end. “Okay. Natasha. Thank you, we really appreciate it. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” She closed her phone, but stared at it for a few moments, thinking. None of this made any sense...

“I know you're really curious about this crap, 'cause I am too, but right now we have a more immediate problem,” Clint was saying.

“Of course. I realize that. But I can't help but think...”

“Think what?”

“I know the two seem unrelated, but do you think our mission has something to do with this?”

“How's a hacker with a team of inept goons connected to a Shadowmaster trying to bring Captain America back to the 1940's?”

“I think it sounds like someone is trying to get rid of the Avengers,” Natasha said, grabbing her shirt off the bed and pulling it on. “They send us on a wild goose chase to Japan and try to assassinate us, and they try to get Cap out of the way by telling him they can take him back to his own time. Someone's up to something. But what are they up to?” 

Clint took a couple seconds for this to soak in, his gaze fixed on hers. “I don't know, Tasha...”

“We've been following this hacker guy for weeks now,” she insisted. “And absolutely nothing about him suggests he's any kind of mastermind in any way. And do you even know how we got this assignment in the first place? An anonymous tip was sent to S.H.I.E.L.D. Do we _ever_ get anonymous tips, Clint? No. This whole thing reeks. We need to get to New York and find out what's going on.”

He didn't look entirely convinced, but still he nodded, just like she knew he would. She could always count on Clint to back her up, even when it looked like she was completely wrong.

But she was pretty sure she wasn't. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was gonna post only a chapter a day, buuut I changed my mind. Why? Because of reasons.


	5. Tony

There was that weird, surreal state in between waking and sleeping when he wasn't sure what was here and what was there. It would feel like Bruce wasn't sleeping next to him, but he was, or that Pepper was sleeping next to him, but obviously she wasn't. Or that Bruce was kissing his neck, and sometimes he was. Colors swirled and dreams continued in reality and his hand would grope for the snooze button that wasn't there because JARVIS didn't have a snooze button.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into his pillow as JARVIS announced the time, date, and weather.

“No, sir, I'm afraid I can't let you do that,” JARVIS said. “I believe the doctor requires your presence in the lab.”

“That crazy – ” He was already up? And _working_? “Fine, fine...” Tony said as JARVIS began to play “Have a Drink On Me”, getting progressively louder the longer Tony took to pull himself out of bed.

Bruce had a cup of coffee waiting for him when he arrived.

“Ah, sweet caffeine,” Tony sighed, and immediately started slurping it down. “Mornin', honey love bunches.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, his fingers deftly working their magic on some calculations. “Morning.”

“I was talking to the coffee, not you.”

“Such a romantic.”

“You're up and at 'em early this morning, aren't you?” He looked up at the equations spread across the room. “Christ. What time did you get up?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I went to work instead.”

“Well, doctor doctor, give me the news.”

Bruce chuckled at that. “I think I've got the trans-warp sorted out, but there's still the problem of the sub-space interference. The machine will be able to travel forward in time, but we won't be able to pick _what_ time it travels to. Or where.”

Tony squinted at the numbers and variables. “Maybe we could – ” Hmm, no, that wouldn't work. “Or maybe – ” Nope, definitely not. “Huh.”

“Yeah, see the problem? But, other than that... it's basically ready.”

“Holy crap. Really?” His heart started rapidly beating. “T.I.T.T.S is ready for action?!”

“About that name – ”

“There's no time for that! We have to take her for a test drive! Please? For the love of science?”

“We can't take it for a test drive, Tony! We need to have a control, and we need to fix the sub-space problem or we won't know where we're going to end up. The plan was to use the machine to travel back to the precise moment when it was completed and that's how we'll know it's done. Remember?”

“Yeah...” he said, disappointed. His arms drooped. He was never going to get to drive this thing.

“But like I was saying, about the name,” Bruce continued. “It's a stupid name, Tony. We can't show this to the scientific community, or the general public, and have the word 'TITTS' written all over magazines and newspapers and professional publications. It's embarassing.”

“God, you're just a big party pooper today, aren't you?” Tony sucked down the rest of the coffee. Probably would've been improved with a shot of Irish whiskey.

He smiled apologetically. “You know I'm right, though.”

“Fine. What name would you suggest, then? And don't say T.A.S.A again or I'll punch you.”

“Ha. I'd like to see you try.”

“Oh, is that a challenge, Dr. Banner?” He quirked his eyebrow. 

Bruce was looking at him with a mischievous expression that made Tony half-hard. He grabbed Tony's wrist and pulled him over, slamming a kiss right on his mouth. Their breaths mingled together, and their tongues too, chests touching and lips hot and flush against each other.

“The Pilgrim,” Bruce said, pulling away.

“What?” Tony said, still reeling from the sudden make-out session. 

“That's the name of the time machine,” he said. His thumb stroked the back of Tony's hand. “The Pilgrim.”

“I like you like this. So forceful. Domineering.”

“Focus.”

“Right, the name, sorry. It's good, yeah, let's use it.”

“Really?”

“Sure, why not? Now, c'mon, it's time for a little morning delight.” Tony kissed him again, and wrapped his arm around him, digging his fingers into Bruce's back.

Bruce pulled away again, a little breathless. “Shouldn't we keep working?”

“Eh, we got all day.”

“If you say so, Tony.” Bruce yanked him close, and they fell on the floor in a tangled heap, a sky of numbers hanging above them.

* * *

His toes were curling so much he was probably going to get a foot cramp, but Tony was definitely not thinking about that as Bruce's tongue flicked across his dick, his lips wrapped around and tantalizingly soft. Slow and quick, gentle and strong, push and push, pull and pull, and Tony was biting on his lip so hard he could taste blood. He could vaguely hear his cell phone ringing but they both ignored it.

Bruce's nails trailed down his legs, head bobbing up and down, Tony yanked his hair and let out a moan, and he could feel Bruce smirk against him and go faster, _yes God fuck_.

A finger teasing, a sharp intake of breath, a finger inside him and an incomprehensible string of undefinable noises came out of his mouth. He was electric and far away. 

Bruce's mouth moved slowly up from his cock to his neck, finger edging in deeper, teeth nibbling at the skin between his collar bone and his throat, and Tony let out a shout. Closer, tighter, expanding and large and getting up there, hips bucking and finally – finally –

“Aaah – hnnnnggggh.”

Tony's head fell back on the floor with a thud, and he would've said “Ouch” but he was too spent. Bruce was wiping the mess off of his stomach with a napkin, and Tony lightly touched his arm for no reason. Eyes half-lidded, he pulled his boxers back up and immediately collapsed on the floor again. 

“Hey, no time for naps,” he heard Bruce say, and felt a small slap against his cheek. “We've got important things to do.”

“No we don't,” said Tony, and pulled Bruce onto the floor with him, curling a leg over his. “Let's spend all day here.”

“What, on the floor?” But he smiled and wrapped his arms around him anyway.

Tony slowly opened his eyes and looked at Bruce. The two of them fit together so well that it was really startling at times. Bruce's skin felt like his own.

The air was too heavy, and he felt scared all of a sudden, and he said, “I miss boobs.”

Bruce blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I miss boobs,” he repeated. “Not that your man boobs aren't perfectly good, but don't you miss lady boobs sometimes?”

“Is that why you named the time machine T.I.T.T.S?” His brow furrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

Oh, crap. “No, I wasn't – I don't know. You know me. I just talk, don't even know about what half the time.” _Why the hell did I say that?_

“Okay. Whatever.” He disengaged himself from Tony and stood up, putting his clothes back on.

“Bruce. C'mon. Don't be like that.” Tony stood up as well, and grabbed Bruce's arm. “Hey. I didn't mean it that way.”

“I said okay, didn't I?” 

“Don't think you meant it, though.” He forced Bruce to turn around and face him. “I'm with you. That's all there is. Forget what I said.”

“Fine.”

“Are you mad?”

“When am I not?”

“Bruce.”

“I'm fine.”

“I mean, who doesn't like boobs, right?” Tony began rambling after a brief, uncomfortable pause. “You know what I'm talking about. They're so... breast-like. It was just, y'know, afterglow babble stuff. And don't tell me you don't like boobs.”

“Boobs are pretty great,” he conceded.

“Yeah, see! So it's all settled.”

Bruce pulled in his lips and said, “Have you been thinking about Pepper?”

“I – what?”

“It's fine, Tony. Really. I still think about Betty. It's only normal. And you never... well, you never really explained what happened with her.”

He shifted his feet. “Um. Well. Kind of a long story. Maybe I'll save it for later. Shouldn't we get back to work?”

“Oh, _now_ he wants to get back to work.” Bruce didn't look particularly angry, but it was hard to tell with him sometimes. “You can tell me, Tony; I'm a big boy.”

He cast his gaze down at the floor. It somehow felt wrong to tell him – how the first night they had been together, the reason it even started with Bruce in the first place, was because Pepper had left _him_.

* * *  
 _About a year earlier..._

“I always knew this was going to happen,” Pepper said to him. “But I always figured it would be with, you know, a supermodel or an actress, and not – definitely not a _guy_ , and certainly not _the Hulk_ – ”

“Pepper, you're being crazy,” he said. “There's nothing going on.”

“No, but there will be,” she said. “And I can't... I can't be with you until you figure this out. I'm going back to Miami. I'll still run the company, but I...” Tears welled up in her eyes and Tony felt like a million tiny knives had just been stabbed into his heart. “I'll see you around, Tony.”

“Pepper, Pepper _please_ ,” he begged, following her out of the hallway and into their room. “I don't know where you got this idea that – ”

“Stop doing that! Stop treating me like I'm just seeing things that aren't there because you _know_ , you have to know that what I'm saying is true, okay? Don't dismiss me like that!”

“I'm not dismissing you, I'm just suggesting that maybe you're being a little insecure? You know? And you might be making a really hasty decision? Pepper, c'mon, don't start _packing_ , Jesus Christ...”

“I already have the jet chartered,” she said, throwing dresses and underthings haphazardly into a suitcase. “I made my decision, Tony.”

“We'll go away for the weekend,” Tony said, trying to gather her in his arms, but she kept shoving him away. “You'll see. You can't... you can't leave me, Pepper. You can't do this. We'll have a great time. Wherever you want to go. Just say the word and boom, we're there. Pepper?”

She didn't say anything. She just continued packing.

“Are you seriously going through with this?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

He didn't feel sadness. He just felt anger. “Fine. You know what? Go, then. Do what you want. Doesn't matter to me. Get out if you hate me so much.”

“I don't _hate_ you! Why can't you understand what I'm going through? Why can't you see that I can't stay here if you and Bruce are...”

“We're not _anything_.” But he knew that was a lie. And she knew he knew it was a lie.

“I called the car earlier,” Pepper said after a moment. “I'll be gone in half an hour.”

And she was.

And after a drink or two or six, he'd found himself in Bruce's lab. Experimenting, if you will, in more than one way. And he had never regretted that. Never regretted Bruce at all, not even for a millisecond. But he did regret losing Pepper. They hadn't spoken since then, except occasionally for company business, conversations that were terse and stiff.

* * *

Bruce was still waiting for an answer. Tony finally looked back up at him, and was about to open his mouth when his phone rang again.

“I better get that,” he said, and reached for the phone in his pants that were still on the floor. “Tony Stark, go.”

Bruce nodded wildly, muttered “Never mind,” and turned away, grabbing the rest of his clothes and quickly pulling them on. 

“Hi, it's Steve,” said Rogers on the other end. “Listen, we need to talk.”

“Managed to figure out how to work that iPhone, huh?” Tony tried to gesture at Bruce to stay but he was already out the door. 

“I've been in the modern world for over a year now; I think I can figure out how to use a phone,” he said. “Anyway, this is important. It's about what happened yesterday. Miss Romanoff told me that – ”

“Hold that thought, would you, El Capitan?” Tony placed the phone carefully on the table and ran out into the hallway after Bruce, who was heading towards the private elevator.

“Bruce! Would you – God, would you just stop, okay? Hold _on_.” He managed to catch up with him before he got inside the elevator, He held it open, blocking Bruce's way inside.

“Could you move?” Bruce said, his face indecipherable. “I wanted to go get my log. I need to record the sub-space issues.”

“You don't have to do that right now. Please. Come back in there with me. We'll work, I promise.”

“I don't understand why you won't just _talk_ to me about it,” Bruce blurted out. “What's the big deal? You still have feelings for Pepper. It's _fine_. I just want you to feel like you can talk to me about... about anything at all. Whatever it is you need to say.”

“I appreciate that, but I don't need to talk about Pepper,” Tony said. “I really, really don't.”

“Yes, you do! But... fine. You know what? You do what you have to do.”

“So are you mad?”

“I'll _get_ mad if you keep asking me if I'm mad. You want me to get mad? Will it make you happy if I did?” 

Tony thought for a second. “...Not really.”

“I didn't think so.” He exhaled. “Let's just... get back to work.”

“Okay. Okay.” The two of them walked down the long hallway, back into the lab, where T.I.T.T.S – no, The Pilgrim – was waiting, all red and glossy and its arc reactor glowing behind the dashboard. The morning sun was coming up, and left everything in silhouette, including Bruce, who had gone back to his calculations. Tony took him in for a good, long while, feeling a deep swelling in his heart that filled him so much he was brimming over.

And Tony stood next to Bruce and grabbed his hand while they both worked out the laws of time and space.


	6. Steve

Steve hung up angrily. It was one thing to be put on hold, it was another to be left waiting for _forty goddamn minutes_.

“Just take your time!” he shouted at the phone. “No rush or anything! Someone's just trying to kill us all! No big deal, right?”

The phone did not reply.

 _All right, Rogers, get it together_. If Stark wasn't going to deign him the courtesy of not ignoring him, he was just going to have to go down there himself.

He had to admit that this Shadowmaster thing sounded incredibly far-fetched. Even after HYDRA and the Tesseract and robot armies from outer space and being frozen in ice for seventy years.

...Well, okay, maybe it wasn't _incredibly_ far-fetched, but it was still difficult to believe. Yet Agents Barton and Romanoff had assured him that it was very real, and he was inclined to take their word for it, however outrageous it might seem. 

“We're taking the first flight back from Tokyo that we can,” Barton had told him the previous afternoon over video chat. “I've tried contacting S.H.I.E.L.D but they've been unresponsive. We need to make sure we're all together.”

“Understood.” He was worried about Stark and Banner. They supposedly hadn't been targeted yet, but who knew what those two were doing at any given moment? They always seemed to be at Stark Tower – Avengers Tower, now – and that was probably one of the safest places in the world they could be. But he still couldn't shake the dark feeling in the pit of his stomach that something really awful was going to happen.

“Steve, nothing's going to happen,” Miss Romanoff had assured him, like she was reading his mind. “To _any_ of us. I guarantee it personally.”

“But what if something does?”

“Then I'll eat my pistol.”

He'd smiled with amusement, and so had she. “I'll hold you to that.”

“Please do.” Their screen went black, and Steve had swung back and forth in his chair. 

Now he was on the F train to Manhattan, and some kids sitting across from him kept whispering to each other and peering over at him. He waved at them, but that just made them hush up and shrink away.

The morning sun shined bright as he exited the subway station at Bryant Park. The children were following behind, still staring at him with wide eyes.

“You kids with your parents?” he asked them.

They squeaked and ran back down into the station. Steve took a quick look down there and saw them run over to a harassed-looking nanny. Satisfied, he continued back upwards.

“That was _totally_ Captain America!” he heard the one girl with the ponytail shout at the nanny. “I recognized him from YouTube!”

“Oh, you hush up,” the nanny said.

As he walked, he remembered that it was somewhere around here that he had seen the alleyway where he was cornered by the Shadowmaster. _What was it, 44th and 5th?_ Maybe he could find something there...

Up and down 44th Street he looked, though – from 5th Ave to 6th Ave, anyway – and there was not a single alley to be found. He stood between the apartment building with the geraniums and the pizza shop. There was not even a crack of space between the two of them. None at all. 

_Was Dr. Banner right? Was I seeing things?_ He saw something move behind the window of the second floor of the apartment building and his head shot upwards, squinting and trying to see inside, but it was no use. 

This was not boding well at all. He felt that thing they called _deja vu_ as he sprinted towards the Avengers Tower once more.

* * *

“I'm sorry, but you are not authorized to enter this area.”

Steve stared at JARVIS's screen blankly. “Excuse me?”

“You are not authorized to enter the Avengers Tower. Please disperse immediately,” said JARVIS.

“JARVIS, it's me. It's Steve. Captain America? I have my own damn _floor_?” He pressed some buttons randomly, but nothing happened except a loud beeping noise and a flashing red light.

“This is your last warning. Vacate the premises at once or I shall be compelled to use... force.”

“Stark, is this some kind of joke? Open the elevator!” Steve slammed his hand against the steel frame, leaving a small dent. “ _Open it_!”

“You asked for it, pal,” said an unfamiliar voice, and Steve found himself suddenly being catapulted across the lobby, and extremely painful electric shocks being administered to him by some kind of – he couldn't even tell, the pain was too great, coursing through every nerve in his body. 

“Aaaagh!” he cried out, and the shocks stopped, leaving burn marks on his skin.

“And stay out!” said the voice again, and an electric barrier rose in front of all of the elevators. 

The burns slowly started to fade as Steve came back to his senses. “Who are you?!” he shouted, but no one answered.

_Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck –_

He tore out of the building as fast as he could, reaching into his pocket for his phone and then remembering he left it on the table – tried to find a pay phone, but there were none to be found – _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ – 

Ran and ran and ran, didn't even really know where he was running to, until finally he saw someone texting while walking down the street and he snatched the phone right out of their hands.

“I'll give this back in a minute!” he assured them over their protests. He quickly dialed the number for Miss Romanoff (at least, he hoped it was the right number) and anxiously waited. _C'mon, pick up pick up..._

“Hello?”

 _Oh, thank God._ “Something's happening at the Avengers Tower. I can't get in, JARVIS wouldn't let me take the elevator, and then some other voice came on and then I was electrocuted and – ”

“Slow down, Cap. Where are you?”

“I'm somewhere near Bryant Park, I don't know,” he said, panting heavily. “You have to get here _now_.”

“Our plane just landed twenty minutes ago; it's gonna take us a while to get there, but sit tight, okay? Get to Bryant Park and _stay there_. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Let me know if anything else happens.”

“I'll try.” He hung up the phone and handed it back to the irate pedestrian. “You shouldn't text and walk, you know.”

“Shut up!” The person snatched their phone and went right back to texting.

Before long, he was back at Bryant Park, sweaty and out of breath. He sat on a vacant chair and attempted to calm down, but it was impossible. What the _hell_ was going on in there? He looked up towards the Tower, and it looked normal enough on the outside, but he knew there could not be anything normal about what was happening on the inside.

He watched the same kids from the subway play a jump rope game while their nanny knitted, and he grew more and more anxious. He really wanted to go back to the Tower and see if he could somehow break into the building and find out if Stark and Banner were in trouble, but he had been told to stay put, and he was sure she had good reason for telling him to, but he was finding it hard to listen anyway.

 _I can't just sit here and do nothing._ Steve stood up and was about to leave when a trail of smoke appeared in the sky.

“Oh no,” he said.

But it wasn't what he thought it was – no, this was something different – a figure on some kind of winged, flying vehicle that was strapped to his feet, and a weird costume that looked like... kind of like... some sort of goblin...

The thing was now hovering over the park, casting a dark shadow over everyone, who were frozen in place and looking up at this monstrosity.

“Captain America!” said the thing, his voice distorted and terrifying. “So nice of you to stop by! So kind of you to be concerned for your friends... but I'm afraid I just can't allow you to continue.”

He threw something at him – holy Christ, it was a _bomb_! – and everyone started screaming and running, and Steve quickly reached into his jeans pocket and pressed the button on his retractable shield, which he threw into the air, and the bomb and the shield collided and the bomb exploded harmlessly in mid-air.

Steve whistled the opening notes of “The Star Spangled Man”, and the shield _shoomed_ back into his hands.

“Clever!” the man laughed. “Very clever! Did Tony Stark build that for you? I shouldn't be surprised. He was always a smart lad. But not, of course, as smart as me.”

“You leave these people alone!” Steve readied his shield.

The man swiveled around on his flight machine lazily, making like he was checking his nails. “I tried to help you, Captain, I really did. I could've brought you back home, and you would never have been involved in this. You never would've had to die. None of these people would've had to die for you, either. Oh, well!” His hand was behind his back, clearly with another bomb ready.

“Who are you?” He looked around to make sure everyone had left, but people were still running away.

“I'm the Green Goblin, you plebe!” 

And he hurled another bomb right at Steve's head.


	7. Tony

“I think we've done it.”

“I think so too.”

The two of them waited several minutes for someone – anyone – to show up from the future, but nothing happened. 

“I don't understand,” said Bruce, putting his glasses back on and looking over the numbers. “We solved all of the issues. The machine _should_ be working. We can pinpoint exactly where and when we want to go... why isn't anyone here?”

“Maybe we just need to wait a little longer. Maybe they had to park outside.”

“I'm gonna log the time and date.” He scribbled something down in his notebook. “What should we do now?”

“Well, it's almost 6:30,” said Tony. “I can have JARVIS cook us some eggs.”

“JARVIS can cook? Man, I wish I had known that when I was craving bacon at 2 in the morning last week.”

“Jarvy, dear, can you whip us up a couple of omelets? And a side of bacon for the doctor.”

“Certainly.” 

“It doesn't taste as good as homemade,” Tony whispered to Bruce. “But don't tell him I said that.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Not on my watch,” Tony said, and kissed him. 

“God, you're so corny,” Bruce said, but he was grinning. 

Tony grinned back, but slowly it faded. “Listen, Bruce... I'll tell you about Pepper one day. I will. Just... give me some time.”

“Okay. Take all the time you need.” 

“You're just so patient, aren't you? Nothing like me at all.” 

“I wouldn't say I'm _nothing_ like you,” Bruce said. 

“And you'd be right. But in respect to temperament, we're definitely not the same. If I could turn into a giant green monster whenever I wanted, I'd be doing it all the time.”

“I guess it's a good thing you can't, then.”

“Never say never. But yeah, probably a good thing.” 

They waited about ten more minutes; still no one showed up from the future. Tony sighed and slurped down more coffee and Bruce did the same, tapping his knuckles on the counter.

“Well, there's something else we can occupy ourselves with while we wait,” Tony said, leering at him over his mug.

“Oh, jeez.”

“Hey, I always pay back my debts, don't I? And I think I owe you something. Something involving penises.”

“You are the _worst_.”

“C'mon, this'll be easy. You're already not wearing underwear so you just have to unzip your pants and then let me do all the work.”

“Won't it be a little awkward for whoever shows up with the time machine?”

“It's supposed to be _us_ coming back, so why would it be awkward? It'll just be hot to our future selves.”

“Well... okay.” Bruce started to un-button his pants.

“No! No! I can't – I just – I have to stop you, I'm sorry,” came a voice.

Tony whipped his head around. “Who's there?”

“No one's there, Anthony. But I just can't, I physically _cannot_ watch you two have sex for the millionth time when there's work to be done; I just can't do it.”

Wait. _Wait._

“Tony, what's going on?” Bruce muttered.

“...Hammer?” Tony said.

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” 

“Hammer, how the hell did you get in my system? JARVIS, get this idiot out of here,” Tony demanded. Bruce's eyes were wide with confusion.

“Ah now, see, there's the rub, Anthony,” Justin Hammer's voice said, and the lights suddenly turned on, then off, then on again. Their calculations flickered, doors open and shut, and the windows went black. “There _is_ no JARVIS anymore! Well, not the JARVIS you knew, anyway. We've hacked into everything. _Everything._ The JARVIS you created hasn't existed in about... oh, let's say a year?”

“Who the fuck is 'we'? What the hell have you done, you imbecile?” Tony began frantically tapping on his touch-screens, but nothing was working. He was completely locked out. _Oh no oh no oh no oh no this is not happening NO._

“Haven't you heard? Hammer Industries has merged with OsCorp! And boy, have we been keeping a close eye on _you_. This time machine you've got here... well, it's just swell, Anthony. It's really something. I mean, look at the style of this thing! Wow! A red Shelby convertible, really nice touch there. And, well, to put it simply, we're gonna steal it, and wipe anything that could trace it back to you, yada yada yada.”

Tony was pressing the button on his Iron Man bracelet, but no suit came to the rescue. Bruce was trying to open the lab door to no avail. 

“But the problem is,” Hammer continued, “it's not _done yet_. And you two seriously need to get crackin' on this thing, or... well, red doesn't really match the décor in this room, does it?”

“You can't take credit for The Pilgrim,” Bruce said. “How are you going to explain the arc reactor?”

“I'm sure we can think of another energy source,” Hammer said. “Or maybe it'll have been a generous donation from Stark Industries, after Tony Stark died tragically in a horrible accident...”

Bruce's face suddenly convulsed, and Tony let out a huge breath. “Bad idea, messing with a guy who could smash up this entire building in under an hour.” He just needed to find some cover...

“Oh? What's this? Trying to turn into the Hulk, are we? Having any problems with that?” Hammer laughed as Bruce continued shaking, but nothing was happening. “I released a special gas we've concocted over at Hammer-Osborne Industries – or did we decide on Osborne-Hammer? I don't remember. Anyway, you're not turning into the Hulk anytime soon, Dr. Banner.”

“But... but how?” Bruce sounded scared – really, truly scared – for the first time since Tony had known him.

“Can't tell you _all_ of my secrets, can I? But we've taken every precaution, don't you worry, fellas. You two are not leaving this lab until this machine is finished. And then we're going to spirit it away back to our own lab. And I guess it's up to Norman what we'll do with the lovebirds.” He paused. “You know, Stark, I never would've taken you for a fairy. I mean, you were banging that gorgeous Pepper Potts, and then you dump her for a _dude_? Really? I had you all wrong, pal. But it just goes to show. People can surprise you.”

Bruce had sunk onto the floor, and now that Tony was looking more closely, he could see a faint green gas in the air. It wasn't affecting him at all, but Bruce had gone pale, and Tony didn't think it was just from fear. 

“You fucking asshole,” Tony snarled. “There's not a _chance_ you are getting out of this with your balls still intact.”

“Oh, but I think I will,” Hammer said. “None of your little Avenger friends are coming to save you. Norman's gonna keep them busy for a while. Maybe he'll even kill them! He's good at that sort of thing. In the meantime, here are your omelets.” The omelets came down the food receptacle, along with two glasses of orange juice. “Enjoy! Baked them myself. Grandma's recipe.”

“You know, the last time someone tried to force me to build something under threat of death?” Tony said. “Didn't work out so well for them.”

“We'll see. Oh, I almost forgot your bacon, Doc!” Bacon came down. “Have fun! Oh, and if you two start having sex again, I'll electrocute you. And I don't mean that in a fun way. Bye, ladies!”

The speakers cut off, leaving a dearth of white noise.

Tony ran over to Bruce, who was still on the ground, his skin even paler. He was still trembling, too, his hands almost a blur.

“Hang on, buddy,” Tony said, stroking his hair. He leaned in and whispered, “I have a plan. But you're going to have to get up. Can you do that?”

Bruce nodded, and shakily stood up, holding onto Tony for support. “My heart is... it's...”

“Shhh, shhh, just keep walking. Come on. One step at a time.” 

Tony dragged him over to the Pilgrim, opened the passenger door and shoved him inside. He quickly jumped over to the driver's seat and turned the ignition.

“Looks like we'll be taking this for a test drive after all,” he said.

The car slowly began hovering in the air, and Tony chewed on his lip, sweating like a pig, and glanced over at Bruce who looked like he was going to faint any second, _c'mon please work I don't need to go to the future I just need to get out of the building C'MON YOU HUNK OF JUNK LET'S DO THIS –_

“An-tho-ny,” Hammer admonished. “You forgot you had the time machine hooked up to JARVIS, you silly!”

The car lowered itself back onto the floor. Tony cursed violently and slammed his hands against the wheel. It had been worth a try.

“Shouldn't rely on your tech so much, friend,” Hammer said. 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. And I'm not your _friend_.” Tony leaned over and took Bruce's pulse – holy crap, it was dangerously low. “What the fuck did you fucktards do to him?!”

But he was greeted with only silence. 

“Shit.” Tony was at a complete loss. Everything he could've used to help Bruce, anything he could've used to help them escape, anything at all, was hooked into his system and thus to Hammer. He didn't know how Hammer had managed to cobble enough brain cells together to pull this off, but now was not the time for theories about Justin Hammer's sudden burst of genius. 

The only thing that mattered right now was getting Bruce to a hospital or a doctor or anyone who could help him. He didn't even care about the time machine; the assholes could have it as long as Bruce didn't... he didn't even want to think about it. 

“Stay with me, Bruce,” Tony said, grabbing his chin. “You hear me?”

“I hear you, Tony.” His voice was weak, but still there. 

“This man needs medical attention!” he shouted. “Your gas is killing him! We need a doctor _now_!”

Nothing.

“Hammer?! ANSWER ME!” he roared.

Deep, deep quiet.


	8. Natasha

She was careening the S.H.I.E.L.D emergency car recklessly through the streets at breakneck speed, Clint holding onto his seat for dear life as she zoomed right through a red light.

“You're gonna get the cops on our tail!” he shouted at her.

“Good!” The more help they got, the better. She swerved out of the way of an oncoming truck and they bounced off the curb. 

“Should've let me drive,” he mumbled under his breath.

They were closing in on 38th Street, and a mass exodus of people were fleeing from something further up. 

“What did Rogers _do_?” Natasha gunned it even more and in less than a minute they were a street away from Bryant Park. She parallel parked smoothly into a vacant space and she and Clint watched Steve battle with –

“That's not the Green Goblin, is it?” Clint asked.

“I think it is.” 

They both immediately exited the vehicle, Clint with bow ready and Natasha grabbing her pistol out of her holster. Clint attached one of his special arrows to a shaft.

“Let's see him fly on that stupid thing after _this_ ,” he said.

_Fhwip._

She watched the arrow hit the control deck on the Goblin's glider, and it instantly fell out of the air, leaving the Goblin in a heap on the grass. Rogers jumped back and looked around, then saw them across the street.

They waved.

“You guys got here fast!” he yelled, but the Goblin had already gotten up and was about to land a punch on Rogers when he held his shield up just in time.

Natasha raced across the street, firing at the Goblin as Clint let loose another arrow into his armor, but he casually yanked the arrow out and the bullets didn't seem to be affecting him at all. Cap was trying to bash him with his shield but the Goblin kept dodging every attack, hitting Cap's weak spots and knocking him to the ground. Natasha leapt over him before he could snatch her and, as she passed over his head, kicked him square in the back and sent him face-first into the dirt. 

She landed on her feet and turned swiftly to him, pistol at the ready.

“Any particular reason you're destroying this park on a fine Monday morning, Gobby?” she asked.

“Oh, no reason,” the Goblin replied, pulling something from his belt. “Just to kill you, is all.” Instead of throwing the thing in his hand at her, though, he tossed it on the ground by her feet. 

The grass was suddenly incredibly sticky, and just as Rogers tackled him from behind Natasha no longer saw a park and a library and a superhero battle, but a prison cell and a tiny window and darkness. She was starving to death and parched beyond all comprehension. She tried to shake herself out of it – _you're fighting the Green Goblin in Manhattan and you just ate breakfast on the plane an hour ago_ – but her body wouldn't believe her brain.

She forced herself to walk, or stagger more like, to the wall of her cell. She pressed her hand against it, and she knew the wall wasn't there but it felt like it was, and she cried out from the stomach pains. Her throat was raw and dry and it hurt just to breathe. 

She made herself keep walking. And walking. The more she walked, the more the wall seemed to crumble away, until –

She was back in Bryant Park, in non-sticky grass, and Rogers currently had the Goblin in a headlock, trying to rip the mask off of his face.

“Let's just see who you really are, mister!” Rogers said.

Clint started cracking up from across the street. 

“What's so funny?” Rogers called to him, the Goblin still struggling under his arm.

“No, it's – that's from Scooby-Doo, man,” he said, still laughing.

“Scooby what?”

It was just the distraction the Goblin needed. He grabbed Rogers' arm and tossed him into the fountain, where he landed with a giant splash. 

Thinking quickly, Natasha bolted over to the Goblin, leapt on his back, and rabbit punched him in the neck. The Goblin screamed in pain and shrugged her off effortlessly, but his neck was broken and that was exactly what she had wanted.

While the Goblin was lying helpless on the ground, no longer screaming but now choking, Natasha delivered a nasty kick to his solar plexus. An arrow from Clint hit him in the throat. Rogers climbed out of the fountain, soaking wet and shirt clinging to his torso, and sprinted over. He picked the Goblin up and launched him into the air towards the fence, which he hit with a loud _slam_.

The Goblin wasn't moving. All three of them cautiously walked over to the immobile man.

“Is he dead?” Clint asked.

“I can't tell.” Natasha took off the mask, revealing industry tycoon Norman Osborne. His eyes were bloodshot, his neck heavily bruised. She moved her hand in front of his eyes; his pupils didn't move. Took his pulse; a very faint heartbeat.

“He's alive,” she said, standing back up. “But barely.” 

“I'm guessing this joker is behind all the stuff that's been going on?” Rogers asked as Natasha made a quick call to 911.

“Guess so.” Clint tapped Goblin lightly with his foot, causing him to fall over sideways. “I gotta pee.” He headed towards the restrooms not too far away. 

“What happened to you before?” Natasha hung up the phone and looked slowly up at Rogers when he spoke to her. “You kept touching the air like there was a wall.”

“I think Osborne had some sort of hallucinatory drug in that bomb of his,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and pointing at the thing that Osborne had dropped by her feet. “It was like I was in a prison, and I was starving.”

“Oh.” He seemed to think for a moment. “So I _was_ imagining things. I saw what he wanted me to see.”

“Yeah, it looks that way. It's not your fault.”

Rogers nodded. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course.” Natasha chuckled with a nervous edge. “Why wouldn't I be?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Just thought I would ask.” 

The police had finally arrived, sirens blaring, an ambulance not too far behind. People were starting to walk back into the park in small droves, and a little girl with a ponytail came running up to Rogers and hugged his leg enthusiastically.

“I knew you were Captain America, I just knew it!” she crowed. “You saved us!”

Rogers laughed and patted her on the head. “It was no trouble, little lady. You go back to your nanny now.”

“You're like straight out of some hackneyed western, you know that?” Natasha told him as the little girl went skipping back to her siblings. 

Rogers grinned disarmingly and shrugged his shoulders again.

“We're gonna need statements from you three,” said a cop as Clint was coming back from the bathroom, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

“That won't be necessary, officer.”

It was Fury. He stood with his fists on his hips, black trench coat billowing in the wind.

“Way to be fashionably late, boss,” Clint said.

“Our communications were down, thanks to Mr. Osborne here.” He strode over to them, patting Nastasha and Clint on their shoulders. “Well done, agents. You too, Cap.” 

“And who are you supposed to be?” the cop asked condescendingly.

“Son, I am the director of the government agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D, and if you want to keep that badge of yours I'm going to have to ask you to leave these gentlemen and lady alone.” Fury gave him the classic stare down, and the cop scurried away. 

“Do you know what's going on at the Avengers Tower, sir?” Rogers turned to Fury.

“No, we don't,” he said. “But we're looking into it right now.”

But Rogers was looking up as Fury spoke, and so was Natasha. They could see something else in the sky making its way over them.

“That's a flying car, isn't it,” said Rogers. 

“Yep.”

“Jesus.”


	9. Tony

Bruce's heartbeat had stabilized, but not at a rate that was at all good. He was still conscious, but just barely, his breaths short and shallow.

Tony had rigged up a very, very rudimentary external pacemaker using various supplies from the lab while underneath the Pilgrim, in order to make it seem like he was working on the machine. He wasn't thinking about anything else – nothing except keeping Bruce alive. “This isn't going to work for long, because I can't operate on you. Are you ready?”

Bruce nodded.

“Okay.” _Please, please let this work_. He un-buttoned Bruce's shirt and attached the nodes to his chest while holding the small pacemaker in the palm of his hand. There was no way to regulate and gage the heart rate on this thing he had thrown together so hastily, but it was going to have to do. 

It took a few minutes for it to start to take effect, but some color was coming back to Bruce's cheeks and his breathing had returned to normal. 

“You... built a pacemaker? And it's actually working?” Bruce weakly checked his own pulse. “You never cease to amaze.”

“You're just lucky I'm a genius, bud.” Tony tried to grin, but could only manage a grimace. He handed the pacemaker to Bruce, who put it in his pocket.“Think you can get up?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He opened the door and climbed out, standing erect rather quickly. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we work on the machine until Hammer decides to get off his ass and get a medical team in here.” 

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Really? We're just gonna give up and help him?”

“Hey, I know when I'm beat.” Tony walked over the other side of the car and, in the brief moment when he passed Bruce, he murmured in his ear, “Can you Hulk out?” He made like he was reaching for the orange juice.

“No,” Bruce said quietly. “The gas is still in my system.”

“Got any ideas?” he said through a large chug of juice that muffled his words.

“I might,” he muttered back, and the two of them started walking around the room and picking up random objects as Bruce whispered his plan in Tony's ear intermittently. 

Oh, duh, Tony thought. Obvious.

A couple minutes later, Tony was under The Pilgrim once again, and Bruce was rifling through his log.

“Hey, Bruce,” Tony said. “Mind fetching me one of those hammers? The deflectors are loose.”

“Sure thing.” He started walking over the toolbox, and Tony watched as Bruce's eyes darted around the room as he reached inside for the hammer. Tony quickly pulled out from underneath the car as Bruce was making his way back over towards him –

– and then suddenly whirled around and smashed the hammer against JARVIS's motherboard on the back of the time machine.

Everything seemed to happen so slowly in the next few, precious seconds. Tony flipped over into the car just as Justin Hammer started screaming over the speakers, and Bruce managed to duck just in time as an electric bolt started heading his way from a gun that emerged from the ceiling. Bruce dodged more bolts and slid on his knees towards the car that was levitating in the air, and Tony held out his hand and hoisted him inside, even more electric charges just barely missing the two of them. 

“Zero to sixty in .03 seconds,” Tony shouted over the noise, and revved the engine, and they shot across the lab, sinking low in their seats to avoid the streams of electricity above their heads, and in a matter of moments they had shot right through the window, glass raining down on them and the street below.

Tony couldn't resist letting out a whoop as the car flew over the sidewalks and buildings of New York, and Bruce was grinning madly, the wind rippling his hair. The car kept dipping, but Tony was able to keep it in the air.

“Is this how you feel all the time? When you're in the suit?” Bruce asked him.

“Basically.” He turned the car over onto the next street. They could hear the cries of astonishment from the people down below. “Great, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it's – ” Bruce suddenly winced and clutched at his chest. “Aaggh – Tony, I think the pacemaker is dying...”

“Shit.” Where the hell was the nearest hospital? He zoomed and zoomed around, trying to find somewhere to land. Faster and faster and faster he went, and Bruce kept looking sicker and sicker.

“T-Tony... the speedometer...”

“Huh?” He looked. “Oh, fuck.”

They were going way too fast. They had installed a program where if the car was going fast enough (somewhere between 80 – 100 mph), it would shoot into wherever/whenever the car was assigned to go. The problem was, they hadn't inputted anything, and it was too late to slow down now; he could already feel the car slipping out of the air.

But, strangely enough, they weren't about to crash. It was as though The Pilgrim had decided that, if they didn't know where they wanted to go, it was just going to take them wherever it damn well pleased. The numbers and letters in the system were fluctuating at a rapid rate.

“Let's hope we land in a time and place where everything is a hospital. Bruce, keep your eyes open, you hear me? Don't even think about – ”

A blaze of white light, and every sound or slightest hint of anything went dead, there was nothing, nothing at all, and the emptiness seemed to be threatening to consume them and then abruptly the car stopped and they were in the middle of what looked like a desert.

The air was shimmering all around them, a heavy breeze sweeping grains of sand into the sky in swirls. Tony tumbled sideways out of the car, breathing deeply – well, there was oxygen wherever they were, so that was good – but there was only sand as far as the eye could see. No hospitals. No people. No aliens. No animals. Nothing except him and Bruce, and The Pilgrim.

“Alright,” Tony said, standing up and brushing himself off. Bruce was getting out of the car too, for some reason. “No worries. Let's just enter New York, present day into the machine, and we'll be right back on track.”

Bruce was stumbling over to him. He looked like death incarnate and was still clutching his chest. “Ton...Tony...”

He collapsed on the ground like a rag doll.

“BRUCE!” Tony sprinted over to him as fast as he could, his feet sinking into the sand. He ripped the defunct pacemaker nodes from Bruce's chest and listened for a heartbeat.

None.

Held his finger under his nose. No breath.

 _Oh God no please no please_ wait, there was that CPR class Pepper had made him take years ago – cardiac arrest, maybe? Bruce wasn't dead, of course he wasn't, and Tony immediately began compressing on his chest as fast as he could, breathed in his mouth one two, compressed again, one two, compressing and it wouldn't take, he couldn't keep doing this he had to get help, he screamed and screamed for help as he kept pressing and pressing on Bruce's heart, no one was coming, he couldn't see anything the air was too thick and his eyes were filled up, press and press and press don't stop don't ever stop because if he stopped Bruce would die, how much time had passed he didn't know, _he didn't know_ , because it might have been minutes or it might have been hours, his arms were so tired but he couldn't stop he just couldn't do it because Bruce was not allowed to die, Bruce couldn't die, it was impossible, it was fucking impossible and it definitely was not going to happen while he was there to stop it, no no no no no no no no no no

His body couldn't handle it anymore. He buried his head in the crook of Bruce's neck and finally noticed that he was crying, and that he had probably been crying for a long time. There was nothing to do now. He hauled Bruce's limp body into the car, and, in a haze, typed in where and when he wanted to go ( _maybe there's still a chance_ ), and after another flash of white light they were there. 

He barely noticed the EMTs laying Bruce on a gurney and bringing him into the hospital, hardly even registered the doctors and nurses rushing around him, because everything in him had just shut down entirely. They told him to make some calls, and Tony didn't even know who to call, so he just sat and waited. Waited for the worst. Waited for the best. Waited and waited.

He heard a doctor say “sudden cardiac arrest”, and “bradycardia” and “I'm so sorry.” His knees hit the linoleum and his hands covered his face and someone was touching his shoulder. 

_This is not real_ , he thought. _None of this is real. It's not happening to me. It's a bad dream. It's a nightmare. This isn't real. I'll wake up any second now._

But he never did. 

* * *

God damn it if this was going to end here. 

Tony slipped out of the window of the tenth story of the hospital and climbed back into The Pilgrim, which he'd parked in mid-air when he had arrived.

_Avengers Tower, New York, NY, Earth, July 8th, 2013, 7:13 am._

He prayed that was the right time as The Pilgrim shot off into the horizon. Whiteness and nothing and then –

Slap in the middle of JARVIS's mainframe room, where Hammer was sitting in the center of a vast network of monitors and controls and wires. 

“Shouldn't rely on your tech so much, friend,” he was saying.

 _Shit, it started sooner._ He was about to type in an earlier time, but it was too late – Hammer had already spotted him. 

“Stark!” He practically jumped a foot into the air. “What the hell – ?”

But Hammer quickly recovered himself and pressed a button, causing an electric bolt to knock Tony right out of the car. 

“God, you just never give up, do you?” Hammer kicked Tony roughly in the stomach, and he rolled over and groaned. “It's so _annoying_.”

Tony grabbed Hammer by the ankle and yanked him onto the floor in a grand, sweeping motion. 

“Ow! You fucking little – ” Hammer made to grab him by the hair but Tony slid out of his reach and stood up, cringing in pain still. Hammer got to his feet also and Tony quickly dodged a punch.

“What the fuck are you doing in my building, you worthless shit-stain?” Tony landed a hit to Hammer's stomach, who doubled over and groaned.

“I wanted to be here for the _moment_ , Anthony!” Another swing – this time he got Tony right in the jaw. “The moment when it was all done! And look, here it is!” Hammer winced and nursed his hand as Tony recovered and held his fists up. “You really did it! What a great job. Your father would be proud.”

“ _Don't talk about my father_.” Tony grabbed Hammer's wrist and twisted it, causing him to cry out in pain – but apparently not so much pain that he couldn't use his other hand to sock Tony's jaw again.

They did this for a while – how long, Tony couldn't say – punches hitting nothing but air, until finally he ran into Hammer and pushed him back onto the ground, his teeth bared, not feeling anything except a terrifying, murderous rage. 

Tony straddled him and started to choke him. “You put everything back the way it was! You understand me? You undo _all of this_!”

“I don't – ” Tony squeezed harder, and Hammer wheezed and tried to gasp. 

Then, for whatever reason, he started to feel ill – physically, utterly ill, as if he was going to vomit, and Hammer's face was turning more and more blue and Tony let him go and stumbled backwards, drained and exhausted, and Hammer slowly got up as Tony sat on the floor uselessly, staring straight ahead of him.

“Shoulda killed me while you had the chance, Anthony.” He pressed another button, and a huge gun – a gun that Tony recognized as belonging to an explosive – was aimed right at him.

He almost let it happen. He almost let it all go. But survival instincts kicked in at the last moment, and he rolled out of the way just in time.

Just in time for the explosive to miss him completely and hit The Pilgrim.

“ _NOOOO_!” Hammer howled as The Pilgrim exploded in a burst of enormous fire. Tony dived and took cover beneath JARVIS's cooling system, watching in horror as the flames consumed the time machine and the computers and, finally, Hammer, burning alive and screeching at an ear-splitting volume. He was running around the room, pressing random buttons, flailing, trying to put out the fire on himself, but it was too late. His face was nothing but tissue and nerves.

Tony covered his mouth and nose with his shirt and dashed out of the room as fast as he could, jumping over the blaze, and his shoe almost caught on fire but he barely noticed. 

The electric guns were going off like crazy. There didn't seem to be any in the stairwell, though, so Tony stayed as flat against the wall as humanly possible and shimmied over towards it. He got to the door and kicked it open, sprinted down and down and down down down down. _Never an end, just down and down forever._

There was an end, though. He tripped and fell and landed on his nose, breaking it, the sickening _crack_ echoing in the empty stairwell. The building was on fire, he could smell the smoke through the blood, and he pulled the fire alarm on the wall before shoving himself against the door and running into the lobby and out of the building and onto the street.

Above, he could see The Pilgrim – and thus, Bruce and any chance of saving him – disappear into the distance.

Blood was dripping into his mouth now. He looked around in a daze, people gathered across the street and staring at the building on fire, and he saw four figures rushing towards him, but everything was so out of focus and spinning; he couldn't tell who...

“Tony? TONY!”

Then the void.


	10. Steve

“TONY!”

Steve was only just able to catch him before he hit the pavement. Blood was gushing out of his nose like a faucet. 

Barton and Fury held his legs up as Steve gently lowered him onto the ground, brushing the dirt off of his face and shaking the sand out of his hair. 

“Someone get help!” he said, and Natasha nodded and ran to get one of the police officers who had followed them here.

“Tony. Tony, wake up.” Steve snapped his fingers next to his ear. “ _Wake up_.”

Miraculously, his eyes flickered open. He looked incredibly confused. “Wha... where am I? What's...” His expression darkened, like he was remembering something he didn't want to.

“You're okay. You passed out for a minute. Your nose's bleeding, though.” Steve took a tissue out of his shirt pocket. “It's wet, but should work just fine.” He ripped it in half and stuck both of them up Tony's nostrils. “Can you sit up?”

“Yeah, once tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum over here let go of my legs.” Both Barton and Fury gave Tony cold stares and dropped his legs instantly. 

Natasha came jogging back over. “Ambulance is on the way. We should move until the firefighters – ”

“No! No _ambulance_ , I don't want a fucking _ambulance_ , okay?” He shoved Steve's hand off of his shoulder and stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Tony, what happened?” 

“My building's on fire, Rogers; what the hell do you _think_ happened?”

“It was the Green Goblin that was behind everything,” Fury said after they had all crossed the street to safety, watching the firefighters do their job and do it well. “Sent us all after red herrings, hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D's systems, and tried to kill our agents.”

“Not just him,” Tony said in a low voice. “Justin Hammer too.”

“Justin Hammer? Where is he now?”

“Burnt to a crisp.” 

They all stared at him. “Did _you_ set the Tower on fire?!” Barton said incredulously.

“Of course not, you idiot! That fucking tool Hammer did when he tried to blow me up! For fuck's sake.” He spat some blood out of his mouth. 

Steve looked at him with concern. _He's a lot more antagonistic than usual._ Maybe it was just because his building was on fire, but... “Where's Dr. Banner?” he asked.

Tony slowly turned toward him like he had seen a ghost.

“Dr. Banner is...” He paused for such a long time that Steve wondered if he was ever going to finish the sentence. “Dr. Banner is dead.” He choked on the last word and quickly turned away, hiding his face.

The world seemed to fall away around them. They all looked at each other in shock.

Natasha inhaled sharply. “How?”

“You can thank our good friends Justin Hammer and Norman Osborne.” He looked numb and empty. “Excuse me; I need to go return some videotapes.” 

“Videotapes?” Steve asked as Tony wandered off. They all ignored him.

* * *

The weather was unnaturally warm and sunny for such a somber day. Steve put the finishing touches on his tie and looked at his watch. It was time to go.

The car was waiting for him outside his apartment. Steve opened the door and saw Natasha and Barton sitting in the back seat. 

“Got a pistol you wanna eat?” he asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Natasha gave him a small smile and patted the spot next to her.

Steve adjusted his black tie and climbed in the black car with the black leather seats and the two agents clad in black, and drummed his fingers on his black pants. No radio played, no conversation was had. Just a blank, black, silence.

He would like to pretend that the silence was for Dr. Banner, and maybe partly it was, but he knew the silence was also a shield. A barrier, so no one would have to talk. About what had happened, about what was going to happen next. No song to remind them of where it was they were going, or why they were going there. 

Quiescence. 

It was almost a relief when they finally arrived. The sky was a deep, brilliant blue, with not a cloud in sight, and as the three of them entered the parlor of the funeral home, Natasha squeezed his hand briefly before going with Barton to where the other S.H.I.E.L.D agents were gathered.

There were a lot more people here than he had expected. Unfamiliar faces and some familiar ones were speaking in low voices, waiting to be let inside the room where the wake was to take place. There was to be no burial; Banner had specifically wanted to be cremated should he ever pass away, Steve had been told by Fury.

“It's what he wanted,” Fury had said when Steve had voiced his reservations. And he guessed it made sense. Who knew what kind of experiments some weirdos might have tried to perform on his dead body, in order to try and gain the power of the Hulk? 

He was just old fashioned, he supposed.

Steve walked around for a little while, nodding at those who said hello to him, whether he knew them or not. He didn't see Tony anywhere.

“A good riddance to that Justin Hammer,” he heard an older man say in a hushed voice to someone. “And that Norman Osborne, too. I hope that freak dies in that coma he's in.”

“They say he's completely paralyzed,” the other person said. “He might as well be dead anyway.” 

_Where is Tony?_ He caught Natasha's eye, and she gave him a quizzical look.

“Do you know where Tony is?” he asked her.

“He's not here?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the funeral director, her arms spread wide as everyone turned to look at her. “If you'll please follow me, we can begin.”

Steve craned his neck over the crowd, trying to see if Tony was anywhere to be found, but he wasn't. He did spot his friend Colonel Rhodes, however, who was dressed in his uniform, hat in his hands. He seemed to be looking for Tony also.

Everyone got settled after a few minutes, the urn containing Dr. Banner's ashes on prominent display, surrounded by candles. A large black and white photo of Dr. Banner was propped next to it. It looked like a candid photo from a college yearbook.

He was so... young. 

Steve sat by himself during the first ten or so minutes, watching people grieve and talk and nibble on the snacks. A woman with long, dark hair and electric blue eyes was touching the urn with the tip of her fingers and quietly weeping to herself. Natasha was in the corner of the room, a glass of wine in hand. Her normally stoic face broke for an instant as she closed her eyes and a single tear went down her cheek.

“Cap.” Fury was standing over him. “Are you ready?”

He gulped. “Yeah.”

The room quieted as Steve was brought in front of the urn. 

“Welcome, everyone,” said Fury. “We would like to begin with a eulogy from Captain Steve Rogers, one of Dr. Bruce Banner's colleagues and friends.”

There was clapping, and Steve cleared his throat, fumbling with the paper he had taken out of his pocket. 

“When I was asked to deliver the eulogy at Dr. Banner's funeral,” he read, “I have to admit I was kind of at a loss. I didn't know Dr. Banner very well. The first time I ever met him was on a flying helicarrier, and when I told him I had heard he could help us, he asked if that was all I had heard about him. I told him it was the only part I cared about.

“Dr. Banner was a lot more than his condition. He was a man of honor. Of great kindness, and great bravery. There aren't many people who would be able to live with themselves after the things that happened to him, but instead of succumbing to the demons inside himself, he instead chose to help mankind. He was a great visionary, a great man, and a great friend. It was a privilege to have known him, and he will be sorely missed by all.”

Steve bowed his head and stepped down, and everyone clapped, and he felt oddly hollow inside. He shouldn't have been the one to deliver the eulogy. The honor should have gone to Tony, who was much closer to the doctor than he had ever been, but for some reason he had been asked to do it instead.

He made his way over to Colonel Rhodes and saluted as he approached. Rhodes saluted back.

“That was a fine speech, Captain,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. Have you seen Mr. Stark at all?” 

“No, I haven't. I came for him so I'm starting to get pissed that he's not even here.” 

Steve looked around the room again – then noticed that the urn was missing.

“Uh, where's the urn?”

A loud crash and a thump. They both immediately turned to the source of the noise, and saw Tony buried underneath a small table, hugging the urn to his chest, clearly incredibly drunk.

“Sorry! Sorry, everyone!” He stood up clumsily, still clutching the urn, and kicked the table out of his way. This caused him to trip again and he landed on his behind.

“Oh, God.” Rhodes ran over to him, and Steve quickly followed.

“Tony, what the hell are you doing?” Rhodes grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. Everybody was staring at them.

“Sssh, I'm trying to steal this,” Tony hissed in a conspiratorial tone, putting his finger to his lips. “I'm trying to be incog... incognito.”

“You're not doing a good job. Here, give me that.” Rhodes tried to wrestle the urn away from Tony, but he was not giving an inch. 

“He's not supposed to be _here_ ,” Tony slurred. “He's supposed to be with _me_. Don't you get it?”

“You're being _disrespectful_.” He kept trying to grab the urn, but Tony was holding onto it like his life depended on it. “Everyone came here to pay tribute to him, and you're acting like a child. _Give it_.” 

“No.”

“ _Tony_.”

“No!”

“Colonel Rhodes,” said Steve, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Just let him have it.”

Rhodes looked at him, and let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. Fine. C'mon, Tony. Let's go.”

The three of them went into the hallway, Rhodes holding onto Tony's arm, and Steve saw the woman with the dark hair stare after them, lost and bewildered.

They exited through the back entrance of the funeral home. Tony pulled his arm away and sat on the grass overlooking the cemetery. None of them said anything for quite a while.

Steve sat cross-legged next to Tony, who didn't acknowledge him. “I know what you're going through, you know.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do. My best friend died in front of me, too.” He could still recall it so vividly – the bitter cold, and Bucky slipping into the icy void. His eyes were what he remembered the most. “At least you're able to get drunk.”

Tony let out a bitter laugh, his fingers tracing the opening of the urn. “It's my fault.”

“Don't say that. Don't let yourself think it. It's not your fault.”

“But it is. I could've saved him. And now it's too late.” He slammed the urn on the ground so forcefully that Steve was surprised it didn't shatter. Colonel Rhodes picked it up. “He left me here all alone.” 

“You're not alone, Tony,” Rhodes said softly.

He didn't answer. 

The three of them stayed like that for a while – Steve and Tony sitting next to each other, Rhodes standing behind, gazing off into the sky and the sun.

Finally, though, Rhodes tapped him on the shoulder and made a motion to go back inside. Steve looked at Tony, who was clearly not intending on going anywhere. He didn't want to leave him here alone, and he could sense that Rhodes didn't either, but they had to go back inside. At least to just put the urn back.

And that's what they did, Steve glancing at Tony before opening the door. Tony pulled his legs up to his chest just as the door shut behind them.


	11. Tony

He was broken. Completely, utterly broken. And the only one who would've been able to fix him was Bruce, and he wasn't here.

It was inconceivable that Bruce was no longer on this planet. He didn't want to believe it, but there it was, hanging and unchangeable. Unmovable. Untouchable. The world was a horrible place now. Barren and cold.

He reached into his pocket for his flask and took a long, rich swig of whiskey, the sharp bite stabbing at his taste buds and softening his brain and making him forget, just for a moment shutting off his mind. 

Tony laid his head down on the grass. He'd forgotten why he was out here, staring at tombstones. How morbid. He curled up and tried to crawl inside himself, but it wasn't working. He just wanted to resign from the world; was that so much to ask?

Not moving was good. His vision was so blurred around the edges. He closed his eyes. 

* * *

He was out by the street now. How had he gotten here? Couldn't remember. He rubbed his palms over his eyes. God, it was so fucking sunny out. What right did the weather have being so nice when Bruce was dead? 

Tony stumbled and fell backwards onto the sidewalk. Took another drink from his flask, and then suddenly it was empty. Well, crap. He tossed it aside and laid his head back, looking up at the sky, everything filmy and out of focus.

He was about to drift away again (he wished it could be for good) when a face appeared above him, a face he couldn't really make out, too fuzzy and indistinct.

“Tony?”

The face came closer, long red hair dangling, and it couldn't be Pepper, no, she wasn't here, she was in California and she wasn't speaking to him because she had left him. 

“Oh, Tony...”

It _was_ Pepper. She had grabbed his hand and was pulling him up, and there was no mistaking those fingers of hers, hands so small and smooth. 

“What... what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Did you really think I wouldn't come?” She was looking at him so sadly, with so much pity, that Tony wanted to turn a switch on that would stop that look on her face. “Let's go back inside.”

“No. Let's stay out here.” 

She nodded. “Okay. Here, let's sit down at least...”

They sat on a bench outside the funeral home. The line of parked cars seemed to go on for miles. Tony doubted that most of these people even really knew Bruce at all.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No.”

“Okay.” 

They just sat there for a while, a cool breeze rippling Pepper's hair, when Tony said, “I can't do this anymore, Pepper.”

“Do what?”

“Any of this. I just can't do it. Let's go away.”

She let out a puff of air that almost sounded like a laugh. “Where?”

“I don't know. Anywhere. I can't... I can't be _here_.”

“Alright. We don't have to be here. We can go somewhere else. Do you want to get something to eat? Is that something you might like to do?”

He thought. “Can we get cheeseburgers?”

“Sure, why not?”

* * *

He could barely taste the burger, but it was nice to have Pepper sitting across from him, even if he knew that she was eventually going to leave him again. He wasn't going to be able to handle it when that happened. He wasn't sure how much more of people leaving him he could take. 

“Do you like it?” The sun was hitting her face, infusing it with a golden glow.

“You're so beautiful,” he said.

Her eyes lowered. “Don't do that,” she said. 

“I was just – ”

“I'm serious, Tony. I'm here for you. But we can't go back to that. Not right now.” She paused. “I'm sorry.”

“Right.” 

“I _am_ sorry, Tony. About what happened to Bruce. What happened between us.”

“I'm the one who should be apologizing for that. The second part, I mean. Or maybe the first part, too.” He took a huge bite of his burger.

She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Please, if you need to talk about anything... you know I'll listen.”

“But I don't want to talk about it.”

“I think you should, though. I think it'll help you.”

“Well, you just know it all, don't you?”

“Tony.”

“Do you even understand?!” he burst out. “Do you even _get_ what this all is? It's a – a literal physical ache, all through me. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. And I can't... because he's not _around_ , with his stupid _face_ , and it just makes everything that much worse...” A tear was leaking out the side of his eye, and he hastily wiped it away. He was this close to breaking down entirely, and took a deep breath. “I'm fine.”

Pepper was suddenly next to him, and hugging him so tightly, and everything just came rushing right back to the surface and damn her for doing this to him and he clinged to her as he started sobbing hysterically, the world in his throat and all of his hurt and pain and anger spilling out of him. 

_I'm having a breakdown in a McDonald's_ , came a rare lucid thought, but images of Bruce laughing and making love and drinking coffee and watching movies and writing stuff down in that stupid book of his, and his glasses, and the way his tongue would lick his lips, and none of that was ever going to happen ever again and it was enough to make Tony want to burn it all down. 

They were like that for some time, until eventually the tears stopped and they were just holding each other.

“I never told him...” He bit back the next wave of tears that threatened to come. Crying in public, how pathetic. He wondered if this was going to be all over the Internet by tomorrow. Iron Man Cries Like A Little Girl, a million hits in the first two hours. “I loved him, and I never told him.”

Pepper stroked his hair. “He knew.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, Tony.” She kissed the top of his head. “Let's take you home.”

And they got up and left, holding hands, Tony leaning his head on Pepper's shoulder.

It wasn't okay. It was never going to be the way it was, ever again. It was going to be an awful road. His body was crying out for another drink. He longed for the release, a way out of the thoughts and memories threatening to overtake him again.

But maybe he wasn't alone. And that thought was going to have to help him get through this.

But he still didn't know what he was going to do.


	12. Epilogue

Bruce's log was in a glass case in his unused, incomplete floor in the Avengers Tower. Tony would sometimes, in the middle of the night, unlock the case and flip through the pages, running his fingers over the words, ink coming off on his hands. 

Tony never tried to build another time machine. He destroyed all of the remaining files containing the formulas and blueprints and everything else. No joy would have been taken in such an endeavor. The world was not ready, and not meant to have it. 

The Avengers Tower wasn't completely destroyed in the fire, thanks to the fine work of the NYFD, and what was ruined was fixed eventually. 

He had gone back to live in Miami for a time, because everything in New York reminded him of Bruce. But he had found his way back, after weeks of what felt like only minimal healing. The memories were bittersweet now. 

And he'd re-built JARVIS, who was glad to be back.


End file.
